


Dulce Periculum

by basilleia



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Blood and Violence, Jaeger Pilots, Jaegers (Pacific Rim), Kaiju (Pacific Rim), M/M, Minor Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27737848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basilleia/pseuds/basilleia
Summary: Kiyoomi stares, incredulous. Atsumu is decidedly unhinged. "Why are you so excited to fight?" He doesn't think he's ever met anyone who looks forward to the Drop like Atsumu does."BecauseOmi-kun, I live for the thrill of it," Atsumu's grin is nearly feral when Kiyoomi looks at him, and there's a dangerous glint in his eyes that makes his hair stand."Danger is sweet."
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 14
Kudos: 58





	Dulce Periculum

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! If you're not familiar with the Pacific Rim Verse, I highly suggest you familiarize yourself with the following terms before you continue:
> 
> Kaiju - Sea Monsters that originate from a spot in the Pacific Ocean called the Breach  
> Jaeger - Built to fight against the Kaiju; essentially giant robots (think transformers) that need two pilots to operate them. One pilot controls the 'left hemisphere', while the other pilot is responsible for the 'right hemisphere'  
> Shatterdome - Shatterdomes are the primary headquarters of the Pan Pacific Defense Corps and factories for the construction, repair, maintenance and launch of the Jaegers.  
> Pilot/Ranger - control the Jaegers  
> Drift - aka the Ghost Drift, it's a telepathic link between the two co-pilots, wherein they are able to look into each other's thoughts, memories, instincts, and emotions: consequently requiring an immense level of trust. The better the drift = the better you fight  
> War Clock - The War Clock monitors the number of years, months, weeks, days, hours and minutes that have passed since the last Kaiju attack. It is reset after an attack is dealt with and doubles as a source of motivation to keep officers within the Shatterdome focused on their respective objectives
> 
> In the future, I'll be keeping the terms in the beginning of each chapter, as well as adding to the list if anything new comes up. Enjoy! :3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"It's me an' you against the world 'Samu," Atsumu had said. He was staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The adrenaline from their first Kaiju kill had yet to wear off: it left him wired. He felt like a hero. He doesn't think he's ever going to grow tired of it._
> 
> _Osamu had been staring at the bottom of Atsumu's bunk with his arms folded on top of his stomach. Unlike Atsumu, 'hero' was just about the last thing he would use to describe the way he was feeling at that moment. He didn't dare tell Atsumu that stepping foot inside that Jaeger was perhaps the most human he had ever felt, and he wasn't sure if he was ever going to get used to it._
> 
> _He had said it back anyway. "Yeah," He swallowed. "Me 'an you against the world,"_

Today's the day.

Osamu was officially given the go-signal to go back to work following Cinderclaw's attack on Hyogo that left him with a fracture running up his entire leg that took nine, painstaking weeks to heal.

Nine whole weeks without the thrill of being inside a conn-pod; nine whole weeks of Atsumu having to wait for Osamu to make a full recovery so that things can go back to the way they should be.

That is: a promise that the two of them had made to one another, whispered from the comforts of their own beds after the first out of what would be many successful missions.

_"It's me an' you against the world 'Samu," Atsumu had said. He was staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The adrenaline from their first Kaiju kill had yet to wear off: it left him wired. He felt like a hero. He doesn't think he's ever going to grow tired of it._

_Osamu had been staring at the bottom of Atsumu's bunk with his arms folded on top of his stomach. Unlike Atsumu, 'hero' was just about the last thing he would use to describe the way he was feeling at that moment. He didn't dare tell Atsumu that stepping foot inside that Jaeger was perhaps the most human he had ever felt, and he wasn't sure if he was ever going to get used to it._

_He had said it back anyway. "Yeah," He swallowed. "Me 'an you against the world,"_

Osamu still felt that same sense of vulnerability every time he and Atsumu left for a mission, unsure of whether or not it would be their last.

They had both gotten comfortable, until Osamu broke his leg.

It was a bit of a miracle that both of them had gone for so long without sustaining any major injuries, but that one instance proved to remind both of them of something very important.

They weren't heroes. They were mere mortals that wanted so desperately to believe that they were more than that— that they were capable of defying the odds.

Obviously, knowing things and experiencing them firsthand are arguably two completely different things.

Osamu can't say that he hadn't felt relieved upon receiving the news that he wasn't going to be seeing the inside of a conn-pod any time soon.

Where Atsumu had found these last few weeks to be agonizing and unbearable, restless with the urge to fight: Osamu had caught a glimpse of freedom.

He recalls the memory now, feeling his gut twist with guilt when Atsumu turns around to look at him.

The look in Atsumu's eyes can only be described as manic when he cranes his neck over his shoulder, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"Can ya hurry up?"

Osamu is right behind him, following at a more leisurely pace. "What're ya in sucha rush for? She's not goin' anywhere,"

"Samu, I haven't been in our Jaeger in three months. Ya have to understand,"

Osamu doesn't. Not anymore— in fact, he's not quite sure he ever did. He sighs. "We need to talk."

They're almost there. Just a few more steps.

Atsumu ignores him. "They finished the repairs yesterday. She should be lookin' good as new," The soles of his boots squeak against the floor as he hurries for the end of the hallway.

" _'Tsumu,"_

He halts when he reaches the platform overlooking the Shatterdome. Osamu stands beside him on it a moment later, and it creaks dangerously with the added weight.

Below them, people are milling about, everyone rushing to get to places where they need to be. —But here, 200 feet off the ground, they are removed from the busyness of it all.

Standing before the two of them was Striker Vulpine: one of two Mark III's manufactured by Japan in the year 2017, at a time where the country had been experiencing an upsurge in the number of Kaiju attacks off the coast. The government scrambled to put together two Jaegers with the funds that they had in the hopes that it would better a sense of security at a time of heightened anxiety.

Meanwhile, at the academy, there had been a bit of an uproar. Becoming a pilot was a competitive ordeal in it itself, and in most cases, you could spend hours upon hours of training with no guarantee that you'd ever actually make it inside a Jaeger.

But Atsumu and Osamu were a bit of an anomaly. How often do you come across a set of twins?

It made all the difference.

At 21, Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu would have been the youngest set of commissioned pilots on the roster.

Almost. That title belonged to Hinata Shoyou and Kageyama Tobio in Miyagi, having been born one year earlier than the twins; who also happened to be the pilots of the one other Mark III that belonged to Japan.

Presently, Atsumu stared at their Jaeger with the same child-like wonder that he had upon first laying eyes on it.

He's always been a firm believer that the pilots match the Jaeger. Vulpine was built primarily for stability; if there was anything that set the twins apart from everyone else, it was the fact that they balanced each other out perfectly.

At 266 feet, Striker Vulpine was on the shorter side, serving to aid their speed when engaging in combat. Its torso was small in comparison to the bulkiness of its legs— the reason being so that in the event that the Kaiju attempted to tackle them, the Jaeger would be able to stand its ground.

The hulking mass of metal was freshly painted in a coat of silver, complete with gold accents framing the panels all over its body.

Wistful, Atsumu murmurs, "Can ya believe it's nearly been four years?"

Osamu merely hums in favor of an actual reply.

Atsumu can't tell what Osamu is thinking. He hasn't been able to much, recently— Osamu's been slightly out of reach ever since the accident, the Drift no longer flowing like an open connection between the two of them.

Here's the thing: Atsumu has never been a patient person; he'd jump into Osamu's thoughts the first chance he had— but one of the things that they had established early on when they had first started Drifting was that they were each entitled to their own privacy.

The two of them more or less tell one another everything, anyway.

They were a mess when they first started out, unable to keep a single thought to themselves.

_"You like Kita-san that much, 'Tsumu?"_

" _Get out of my head!"_

It was a hard thing to acclimate to. On top of already spending nearly every waking moment together, the Drift made it so that there was no escaping one another.

Atsumu never said it aloud, but he always thought of the Drift as a source of comfort more than anything: the fact that Osamu was always just there*.*

With time, they both learned how to put up a barricade: a wall of sorts— around the things that they would rather the other not know. Between the two of them, Osamu had always been better at it, but Atsumu's never really stopped to think about why.

Atsumu's stomach churns with his uneasiness.

Most nights pass like this: with Atsumu laying awake in bed, convincing himself that _it's okay;_ that _this is a thing that will pass,_ and most important of all: _'Samu's not leaving me._ He constantly replays the memory of him and Osamu, aged 18. Both their parents have just died. They are banged up and worse for wear, but at least they have each other.

At the moment, the only voice he hears in his mind is his own— and it's been that way, for the past couple of weeks. Quite frankly, he's not quite sure how much longer he can stand it for.

It feels like the calm before the storm.

Eventually, Osamu breaks the silence. "I don't want to be a pilot anymore," He says, tersely. His voice is carefully even, spoken loud enough for only Atsumu to be able to hear.

All the air seizes Atsumu's lungs. "What?" It sounds more like a statement than a question. "What did'ya just say?"

"I said,—" Osamu starts slowly, softly: the way you do when you're speaking to a child, as if Atsumu was unable to understand the simplicity of his words.

"I know what ya said," Atsumu snaps, pushing up and off of the railing so he can turn to look at Osamu beside him.

There are plenty of people who would be more than willing to take Osamu's place— desperate for a chance: a taste of what it felt like to be invincible. Atsumu knows this.

Plenty of people, not enough Jaegers.

People who go through nearly 14 hours of combat training a day, training their bodies, their minds— in the hopes that one day, all the hard work and the gruelling hours that they put in will pay off. 

Atsumu would know. He was one of those people, once.

And so while a change of co-pilot was uncommon, it wasn't impossible. Not unless Atsumu made it so: but that was the thing. He didn't _want_ another co-pilot, but he was useless without one.

At the end of the day, they were nothing more than disposable.

"I'm not gettin' in another Jaeger without ya in it 'Samu," _I don't trust anyone else with my life._ The thought is unbidden, and there is no stopping it from echoing across the Drift.

Osamu's breath catches in his throat, but he keeps his gaze trained forward resolutely, determined to have this conversation. "Don't be stupid," He shakes his head, trying for a smile that just ends up looking sad. "You an' I both know that's a lie. I know ya, 'Tsumu. And I know that you love bein' a pilot more than anythin' else,"

"Yeah, I _do._ Which is why yer not goin' anywhere,"

Osamu sighs. "I'm so—"

" _Don't._ I don't want yer goddamn apology, not if ya don't mean it,"

Osamu's hands tighten around the railing. "That's not fair,"

"Yeah, it really fuckin' isn't 'Samu. Ya don't get to just bail because you don't want to do this anymore. Ya made me a _promise,"_

_You an' me against the world._

Osamu tears his eyes away from where he's looking straight ahead, "And that promise still stands," comes his immediate response. He makes sure that he looks Atsumu in the eye when he says it, lingering for half-a-second before he's back to look at their Jaeger.

With each passing second, it feels more and more like the ground is crumbling beneath Atsumu's feet.

He's always imagined the two of them standing side-by-side one another much like they are now. He pictures the two of them standing above it all on top of a summit.

Now, he pictures the earth cracking between them, threatening to separate them.

"Quit lookin' at our Jaeger like _that,"_ Atsumu snarls.

"Like what?"

 _"Like yer gettin' ready to say goodbye,"_ He rattles off the words quickly. "This better be a joke, 'Samu,"

When he turns to face him, the look on Osamu's face makes it clear that he means it.

"I already submitted my appeal,"

Atsumu hates that he still can't tell what Osamu is thinking— hates that he can't read the look on his face. "When?"

"...A week ago,"

"Yer serious," Atsumu's chest tightens with something like anguish.

Atsumu's voice breaks on the syllables when he says, "Yer leavin' me?"

_You an' me against the world._

Osamu's stony facade cracks slightly under the weight of his words. With it, the wall in his mind that he has been working slowly but surely to fortify across the past three months of him in recovery.

"I'm not leavin' ya 'Tsumu. I just don't wanna do this anymore. I'm still gonna be yer brother, just not yer co-pilot. Those two things can be mutually exclusive," He presses a hand to his right eye when he feels the searing pain in his head.

By putting up the barricade in his mind to keep his thoughts _in,_ he has also managed to block most of Atsumu's emotions _out_.

Now, it surges up to meet him all at once, nearly knocking the wind right out of his lungs.

Atsumu's devastation threatens to suffocate him as it ripples across the Drift.

Osamu gasps for air before beginning to explain: "The only reason why I got approved was that I submitted a list of potential candidates—"

Atsumu's tongue feels heavy, unable to accommodate any words. Every muscle in his body trembles with rage: the veins in his forearms becoming pronounced with how tightly he's clenched his fists.

Atsumu's expression morphs into one of incredulity. "You did _what?"_

"I don't have a choice but to be your co-pilot for now, but once they find someone to replace me, I—" He pauses, when his voice wavers. "I can officially resign, 'Tsumu. I got the notice this morning."

Atsumu is in his face in an instant, hands clutching at the collar of his shirt. The lower part of Osamu's back hurts from where it's digging into the railing.

"And not _once_ did you think to talk to me? About any of this?"

Atsumu's features rearrange themselves into a scowl: the line of his mouth is grim, his eyebrows pulling together in the middle of his forehead.

There's a look in his eyes— a look of pure _disdain_ that Osamu has seen directed at other people before, but not at him.

Never at him.

Atsumu pulls Osamu away from the edge, shoving him into the corridor and off of the platform.

Then, without further preamble, he draws his arm back as far as he can go: his shoulder straining with the movement—

The punch lands squarely on Osamu's jaw. Its impact causes him to stumble back a few steps.

Despite the pain blossoming in his own cheek, Atsumu manages to grit out "Yer an _asshole,"_ with as much venom as he can muster. And then, he's practically hysterical when he shrieks, "You _can't._ Ya can't _leave me_ 'Samu!"

Having successfully blocked Atsumu out of his head over the last few weeks, Osamu almost forgot what it was like to share his psyche with someone else.

It's too much: he's not entirely sure where the line is between his emotions and Atsumu's own.

Osamu struggles to get any words out with the way his lungs are screaming for air.

Atsumu's chest is heaving, and with it his eyes begin to brim with unshed tears. He doesn't trust his own voice to speak, so he bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood.

The two of them have dealt with their own fair share of panic attacks before; they've helped each other through them on countless occasions. —And so Osamu knows well enough that the one he is experiencing currently is not his own. "'Tsumu you need to breathe,—"

Across the Drift, Atsumu is chanting _why why why—_

Osamu winces, and he falters just enough for Atsumu to find an opening. He forces himself through the gap and into Osamu's head.

Overwhelmed, Osamu finds himself unable to stop Atsumu from rummaging through his mind.

A familiar face greets him as Atsumu recalls a memory that is not his own.

_"So. When are ya free?"_

_"Are you asking me out?"_

_"Since 'm not your patient anymore, everythin' should be fine and dandy now, right? Been meanin' to ever since ya introduced yourself to me as Dr. Suna, but I figured ya couldn't cos' of protocol an' all. So I waited,"_

_Rinatrou raises an eyebrow. "That's awfully considerate of you,"_

_He feels himself smile, rocking forward on the balls of his feet. "Well?"_

_Across from him, Rintarou's smile is a mix of wry and dejected. "Sorry," He says. "But I've made this rule for myself where I don't date Jaeger pilots,"_

_Osamu feels his heart fall. "Ah," He mirrors Rintarou's smile. "Can't fault ya for that. One of us needs to have a sense of self-preservation." He stops moving, feeling his fingers twitch against his thigh with the urge to_ touch. _He cocks his head to the side. "Friends, then?"_

_Rintarou's face is back to being unreadable. He nods._

Suddenly there are hands framing Atsumu's face, holding him steady.

When did he start sweating? How long has he been shaking for? Dimly, he notes that his knees hurt. Glancing down, he realizes that his legs must have given out from under him.

_Is someone calling my name?_

"'M right here 'Tsumu. Just listen to me breathe," Osamu is crouched before his brother, struggling to catch his own breath but nowhere near as bad as Atsumu. He takes big, deep, breaths— making sure to exaggerate it when he exhales.

He moves to prop Atsumu against the wall, guiding his knees so that they're bent before pressing a hand in between his shoulders to ease him between them. He's mindful not to crowd too much into his space, making sure to continue breathing loudly in the hopes that it will coax Atsumu's breath into returning back to normal.

Atsumu is frantically whispering underneath his breath: "You can't. Ya can't leave me, 'Samu. Yer not leavin' me. Ya _promised,_ " At the first sob that escapes him, Osamu's breath comes out in a hiss.

"'M not. _God_ , 'Tsumu, I am _not_ leavin' you, ya hear?"

Osamu feels helpless to the sobs that wrack Atsumu's body. He wills himself not to let the tears fall from his eyes as he unzips his jacket. He takes it off before placing it on top of Atsumu's shoulders.

Atsumu clutches at the fabric, curling into it completely. He feels so, very small.

Osamu keeps his hand on the space between Atsumu's shoulders, occasionally rubbing small circles into the fabric of his jacket.

It occurs to Osamu that neither of them has ever had their hearts broken before; he certainly never imagined that the first time would happen like this.

When Atsumu's sobs have mellowed out slightly: scattering into a stray hiccup here and there, and his breathing has somewhat returned to its normal rhythm— it feels like hours have passed.

"'Tsumu," Osamu places his hands on either of Atsumu's arms in an attempt to ground him. "Listen to me," He moves so that his hands are on either side of Atsumu's face, forcing them to look at each other.

"I'm still keepin' my promise. It's always goin' to be you and me against the world, I just... feel like it doesn't have to be so literal, ya know? We don't actually have to be inside a fuckin' robot fighting off sea-monsters for that to be true," His attempt to lighten up the atmosphere falls flat.

He has no idea if Atsumu is registering any of the words that he's saying: his eyes looking glazed over and dull. "I'm not leavin' you," Osamu continues, punctuating it with a slight shake of Atsumu's head. "I just need you to understand that this doesn't make me happy anymore," He pauses to inhale sharply: his chest twinging with a kind of pain that makes his head spin.

He's exhausted. Atsumu wishes this conversation had never happened. Even now, there's still a part of him that's convinced that this is all one very bad dream and that he's going to wake up soon and hopefully never have to think of it ever again.

"'m head's throbbin', He slurs, wincing at the sound of his own voice. It hurts to talk. He feels Osamu stare at him, but he can't bring himself to raise his gaze from where they're trained on his shoelaces.

Osamu releases a shaky breath. "Okay," He swallows down the lump in his throat. "Okay. Let's go get dinner."

They won't be continuing the conversation tonight.—Or any time soon, for that matter. Not if Atsumu gets to have any say about it.

The two of them don't speak as they make their way to the cafeteria. Neither of them comment on the fact that he's still wearing Osamu's jacket.

When they get there, he spots Kita sitting with Aran, raising his hand to wave him over.

"You go on ahead. I'll get food for the two of us," Osamu says. Atsumu merely nods before walking towards the tables.

When he smiles, he sees the exact moment that Kita and Aran's expressions morph into one of concern. It almost makes him laugh as he plops down on the bench, making sure to leave a space beside him.

"Is everythin' okay?"

He snorts. _No._ Things are very much not alright Kita-san but thank you for your concern. "That obvious, huh?"

"What happened?"

He waves his hand around as if to day, _eh._ "I'm sure you'll all find out about it sooner or later," He closes his eyes before folding his arms across the table to use as a pillow. His head feels like a fishbowl.

Aran cuffs the top of his head good-naturedly. "You look like you could use a nap,"

Atsumu grunts. _Or maybe a coma._

He must have dozed off at some point because he's suddenly jolted awake by the sound of a metal tray being placed down on the table.

He doesn't spare Osamu a glance as he mutters a half-hearted thank you, pulling the tray towards himself.

Upon seeing the purpling bruise blossoming across Osamu's cheek, Kita reaches a hand over the table. "What happened to yer face?"

"It looks like it hurts, too," Aran adds.

"Sparrin' session."

"That's new. It's usually Atsumu lookin' more beat up between the two of ya," Kita remarks, making no effort to hide his surprise.

"I guess it's only natural. 'Samu hasn't trained in a while," He directs the latter part of his sentence towards Atsumu who continues to stare blankly at the food in his tray. "'M sure he'll be right back to kickin' yer ass in no time," Aran pipes.

Osamu ducks his head.

Atsumu's smile is too sharp when replies, "We'll see about that."

Kita and Aran share a careful look between themselves at the notable silence that envelops the table: the usual banter that would ensue after a comment like that nowhere to be found.

Kita opens his mouth, trying for another attempt at starting a conversation when another person joins them at their table.

"There's only a day and a half left on the war clock? I feel like that last attack just happened yesterday," Suna plops his tray down with a resounding clang before clambering over the bench.

He flashes a smile at the twins seated in front of him. "It's a good thing that 'Samu's all better now, yeah? Now you two can go back to protecting all of Hyogo, or whatever. Although," He picks up a carrot stick to take a bite out of it. "All things considered, I will say that a good part of that is thanks to me."

To his right, Osamu closes his eyes. Talk about timing.

Atsumu stiffens in his seat. The glare he gives Suna is absolutely _scathing._ He revels in the way that Suna's usually stoic expression shifts into one of surprise: a rare occurrence.

He wonders if he could have done something to prevent all of this, thinking back to 3 months ago.

Maybe it's his own fault and he's to blame for the fact that he didn't do a good enough job of protecting the two of them. If Osamu hadn't ended up injured, then maybe he wouldn't have spent all that time with Suna, and maybe then he and Osamu wouldn't be fighting right now.

Atsumu carefully schools his expression back into a more neutral one when he stands up with his tray. "I'm goin' for a ride,"

Where Osamu knows better than to say something, Kita frowns at him. "Ya barely even touched yer food,"

He shrugs off Osamu's jacket before draping it over the bench. "Not hungry,"

Osamu looks at him, a furrow in his brow. "Where're ya goin'?"

Atsumu looks at his brother: at the rigid line of his shoulders, and the worried expression on his face, the nervous bounce of his leg. He manages a small smile: a meager attempt at mollifying their shared anxiety. "Nowhere far."

He says it with a sense of finality.

No, Osamu has not completely ruined things between them. No, Osamu has not made it so that this: them, would be irreparable. Neither of them is going to get out of this scuffle unscathed, but they will move past it. Not just because they have to: but because although neither of them will dare say it aloud, they matter too much to one another for this to break them.

They've gone through far too much: have seen each other through their best and worst. This is just another one of those times.

No, things are very much not okay between them at the moment— but they will be.

A few feet away, he overhears the baffled tone to Suna's voice. "Is he okay? What crawled up his ass and died?" Then, "Also, what the fuck happened to your face?"

Atsumu scowls, nearly booking it out of the cafeteria in his haste to get away.

He casts one last look at Osamu before he leaves, and finds that Osamu staring right back at him.

At the now vacant seat beside him, Rintarou pushes his tray across the table before taking his seat in the space that Atsumu had previously occupied.

The look that Osamu gives him is pleading. For what, Atsumu doesn't know, but somehow, he still feels like he understands.

He just needs some time.

Without another word, he turns on his heel, disappearing down the hallway.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my friend Lee for beta-reading and keeping me company throughout my brainrot :3 Also Halley for helping me through the early stages of me writing this!!! comments and kudos would be greatly appreciated :>>
> 
> LET'S BE FRIENDS!!! Come talk to me [ here ](https://twitter.com/basiIIeia/status/1332311630718271489?s=20)


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